


Unanswered Questions

by Ghost_Owl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Awkwardness, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Set During Episode 2: Attack of the Clones, We never did get to see these two actually decide to get married, let's explore that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 21:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Owl/pseuds/Ghost_Owl
Summary: The first time Anakin asks Padmé to marry him, he's more than a little drunk.





	Unanswered Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an ask prompt from Tumblr that I realized was fic-sized.

The first time Anakin asks Padmé to marry him, he is more than a little drunk.

Well, not _drunk_, per say, but certainly _drugged_.

It is the morning after the Battle of Geonosis, and the massive Republic cruisers sent to retrieve its new army from the battlefield are due to arrive back on Coruscant in a couple of hours.

Aboard one of them is Padmé, who has just finished having her own injuries from the battle redressed by a med-droid, and is absolutely not using her being in the medbay anyway as an excuse to go searching for the handsome face that had whirled back into her life with all the heat and intensity of a summer sandstorm.

It takes a couple of tries, peering into rooms to see other wounded Jedi, offering Senatorial thank you’s and well-wishes. She is the only civilian on board.

Eventually, she peeks in and there he is. Her heart does that new, terrifying, exhilarating little twist it’s made a habit of whenever she sees him, and if she hurries into the room to take a seat in the stool pulled up next to his sleeping form, well, no one else is there to see her.

And if she makes the mistake of looking too long at him, face soft and young and beautiful in slumber, gods, if she looks at his hand— or lack of, anyway —well, there’s no one there to apologize to as she ducks down and trails her lips across his brow, his nose, his cheek, the barest of breaths against his half-open mouth.

She hasn’t seen him since they were separated in the battle, since she held her own side by side with those new clone soldiers, since she had been swept away in the aftermath to medical for the claw slashes on her back, to emergency holocalls with various senators including the Chancellor to discuss the oncoming war, to a hasty gathering with the assembled members of the Jedi Council to recount what exactly had happened when her and Anakin had decided to leave Naboo.

(She doesn’t mention Tatooine at all.)

She hadn’t even known Anakin had landed himself in intensive care until she had asked faux-casually as she could manage how her assigned protectors had fared, and a councilor, she couldn’t remember who, had taken pity and told her.

She hasn’t realized until now just how frightened she had been, just how much she’s missed him, and she’s scared that the thought no longer scares her. Yes he had lost his hand, but he could have _died_ and she wouldn’t have even been there to say goodbye…

As she steals that hint of a kiss, he shifts, mumbling incoherently against her mouth, and she freezes, jerking her face backwards until she’s hovered a respectable distance over him, watching in anticipation as his long lashes flutter. His nose twitches as one of her loose curls brushes against it and she quickly sits up to wrap the offending strands into a messy bun. When she turns back around, he’s watching her, goofy smile on his face and blue eyes sparkling under half-lids.

“Hiya, Angel.”

Padmé feels herself flush like the giddy teenager she never got to be. “Hello, Ani. How are you feeling?”

“Y’ so pretty,” Anakin informs her, completely ignoring her question and tilting his head to the side, gazing at her adoringly. It’s incredibly endearing.

It also isn’t quite right, Padmé decides, as she notes the hazy glint in his eyes, the dropping of his mouth, the slurring of his words as he babbles something else about angels and how he’s in love with one— her heart takes flight at that part, and she has to forcibly pull it back down again. She spots the number of tubes and wires trailing beneath the sheet he’s tucked tightly under that lead to the stump on his wrist, and she realizes she doesn’t even know how he was injured.

“Anakin,” she laughs, tilting away from his left hand as it emerges from the sheet to paw at her face, catching it in her own. “You’re still on pain meds.”

“What? Nah.” Anakin’s nose wrinkles adorably. “‘Kay, maybe a little. Jus’ a bit. It’s a happy buzz, s’all.” His eyes meet hers again and she can feel the hand she’s captured tighten around her fingers. “You make me happy.”

Something catches in her throat, and Padmé is forced to swallow before speaking. “You make me happy too,” she says honestly, and it’s the truth.

“Heh.” He offers her another dopey smile and it takes all of her trained, Queenly restraint not to kiss it right off his face. She settles for stroking a hand down his cheek as he leans into it.

He still hasn’t answered her question though. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks gently, nodding towards where his stump arm is draped across his chest in a protective mechano-casing.

Something darker stirs in his eyes, and she just squeezes his hand in comfort, treading as lightly as she can. “You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Anakin scowls, shaking his head and running a thumb over her knuckles. “Dooku,” he eventually spits out.

Padmé bites back her own snarl at the mention of the Count. “I hear he escaped,” she says evenly. “I’m sorry.”

“My fault,” Anakin mutters. “Mastern’I were fighting ‘im. He hurt Obi Wan, n’ I tried t’ take him alone. Failed. Yoda had to save our asses.”

Padmé can tell that from his averted gaze and the way he’s leaning his missing limb away from her, right now it’s his pride that has taken the most serious injury. Unable to help herself, she raises his grasped flesh hand and kisses it. “I’m just happy you’re alive and safe.”

Rolled eyes and a snort. “Not all of me.” He waves his stump in the air for emphasis. “Gonna be part cyborg, gonna set off all th’ metal detectors.”

A giggle escapes Padmé at that, and she stifles it quickly in fear of upsetting him, but when she looks at him she just sees proud content on his face. He’s happy he made her laugh.

She smiles reassuringly, now gathering both his stump and his flesh hand together in hers. “Well I can promise you I won’t have any metal detectors. You’ll be safe with me.” She kicks herself inwardly. 

_What am I saying?_

He turns a charming shade of red and ducks his head slightly, staring at their connected hands. He mutters something under his breath, and she nudges him. “Come again?”

He looks up at her now, blue eyes shining with a new sense of eager urgency. “I was just thinking,” he says slowly, “that maybe you could give me _your_ hand…”

Okay, now he’s definitely been on the medication for too long. 

“I don’t think that would work,” she tells him, struggling to hide her laughter. “I kind of need my hand, and it’s a bit small for you, wouldn’t you say so?

He pouts again. “That’s not what I—“

“And here I was worried about leaving you by yourself.”

Padmé almost has a heart attack, whipping around to see Anakin’s master leaning in the doorway.

“Hey, Master,” Anakin greets him casually, as if he’s not still gripping Padmé’s hand with his remaining one. “See, Padmé, just look at what Dooku did to his leg!”

Obi Wan is currently wearing pants so Padmé can’t actually see what happened, but from the way he grips a cane to support himself and the bags under his eyes, she can tell he’s had a rough time. She wonders if he’s slept yet.

“Hello, Anakin. Senator Amidala.” He dips his head at her, and she realizes with a start that he must have been the one to pull the chair next to Anakin’s bed that she’s currently sitting in.

“Knight Kenobi,” she greets in return, starting to rise to give him his seat back, only for him to shake his head and motion for her to keep it. She resettles uncomfortably, trying her best to shake off any sort of prickly defensiveness. She’s only visiting the man who helped protect her, she’s done nothing wrong, nothing to feel guilty about.

Obi Wan’s grey eyes seem to hold no accusation in them, however, so she forces herself to calm as he enters the room. “How are you, Senator? You’re healing from your injuries, I hope?”

The claw marks on Padmé’s back twinge at the reminder, and she rolls her shoulders, surprised he‘s remembered. “I’m doing well, thank you; I can barely feel them anymore. And you?”

Anakin cuts in rather rudely. “Hey, Master, could you talk to Padmé later? She still needs to answer my question.”

Padmé blinks. “What question?”

“What I was just asking you about,” Anakin insists.

_Hands?!_

She shoots a helpless glance at Obi Wan, who gives her the slightest of shrugs and an amused smile before turning to Anakin.

“It seems you’ve caught the lady unawares, young one. Care to repeat the question for her?”

Anakin huffs. “I was trying to ask her to marry me.”

Silence.

“Oh,” Padmé says faintly. _He wants my hand…_

“Oh,” Obi Wan echoes, looking rather like someone has pulled the ground out from under him. Padmé thinks she knows the feeling.

“Well?” Anakin demands.

“Um,” is Padmé’s eloquent response, and Obi Wan’s hand goes to pinch the bridge of his nose.

There’s more awkward, dragging silence, and Padmé doesn’t know if she can breathe, and then at the same time—

“I am so sorry!” her and Obi Wan blurt out in unison.

“I’m not,” Anakin offers.

Obi Wan makes a frustrated noise, but otherwise ignores him in favor of Padmé. “_You’re_ sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have woken him up!” Padmé gasps, hands flailing. “He needs rest, he’s still on medication—“

“I’m not _that_ drugged,” Anakin says indignantly.

“It’s not your fault, I promise you this isn’t normal behavior for him,” Obi Wan’s own eyes are rather wide. “I know he meant no—“

“I meant it,” Anakin insists.

“He meant no offense,” Obi Wan finishes in exasperation.

“Please, none taken, it’s really fine,” Padmé promises, having stood from the chair at this point, noticing how her and Obi Wan have been circling each other like anxious buzzards.

“You guys look kinda pale, maybe you should sit down,” Anakin observes from the bed, patting both sides with hand and stump. “And Padmé—“

“You both should get some rest,” Padmé breathes, half-wondering why she hasn’t physically turned into a quivering lump of jelly to match her insides. “I should be going.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” There’s a frown in Anakin’s voice and she cant bear to look at his face.

“I’m sure you two will see each other again.” The assurance from Obi Wan makes her turn to him in shock. He’s staring right at her, and for the first time, she can see that the normally unreadable man looks as frightened as she is.

_Will she reveal what Anakin asked her? Will she stay or will she go? Will she hurt him?_ that gaze says.

Padmé feels as though she must be visibly trembling, but she nods back, words addressed to Anakin but eyes straight on Obi Wan. “Of course we will, Anakin. I’ll still need someone to see me home safely after, won’t I?”

_I’ll not tell a soul, how can I leave him, I love him, I love him so much it terrifies me._

“Okay, good,” Anakin says, and Obi Wan offers her the most tentative of smiles in return.

“I will see you both around, then,” Padmé tells them stiffly. 

_“I’ll see you around”? Smooth, Senator…_

She gives them both a nod, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “Good day, Master Jedi.”

She hears Anakin call out “Bye, Padmé!” as she ducks through the doorway and scurries off down the hall, clutching her dress closely to her sides, mind refusing to cooperate with her as she struggles for control.

She knows she is considered attractive by a number of species, and this is far from the first impromptu proposal she has received over a lifetime as Queen and senator. Anakin, however, is the only one out of all of them who has ever made her want to answer “yes”.

Once they arrive back on Coruscant, it’s a whirlwind of rushing back to her home to throw on an appropriate outfit for the emergency Senate session the Chancellor calls immediately, struggling to make herself heard over the raucous from the pods around her as she makes a last ditch plea for consideration of any other possible routes they could take that wouldn’t mean civil war, despair when the vote falls in favor of it, even when she knew it was coming.

The rest of that week is spent making future plans with political allies, contacting the Council and confirming that yes, she is still to have an escort when she returns home, and solidifying the details of the trip back to Naboo itself, and what she will discuss with the Queen once she arrives.

The entire time, Anakin’s question is a burning flame in the back of her mind.

When the day comes that she is to travel home, she clenches her fingers tightly in the pockets of her traveling dress, worrying. Maybe he won’t even come, maybe they have sent someone else altogether to escort her back.

But no, there he is, golden hair gleaming in the setting sunlight, head bowed in respect but dark blue eyes peering up at her hopefully, both hands conspicuously hidden from view inside his robe pockets.

His master is walking with him, hand on his shoulder, but when they meet, Padmé is informed that only Anakin will be escorting her back; Obi Wan has business to attend to here.

Padmé doesn’t even have time to process what that means, that once again they will be alone together, when Obi Wan is stepping away, telling them to take care. His eyes meet hers for a brief moment and Padmé catches the double meaning.

_I will always take care of him,_ she vows.

Then they’re boarding the ship and they’re taking off and they’re jumping to lightspeed, and they’re very much alone and Padmé feels like the ship is going much too slow, like her heart is racing parsecs ahead of them.

They both sit there awkwardly for a time, watching hyperspace swirl around them, before Anakin takes a deep breath and holds up his right hand, which he had taken out of his pockets earlier but has been sheathed in a black glove.

She can’t take her eyes away as he slowly, with unsteady fingers, unlatches the buckles and snaps holding it on, then slips the glove off. He offers the glove to her, but she takes the hand instead.

It’s a basic design, skeletal lines of metal shimmering from the light of space around them. He’s talking to her about it in a gruff, embarrassed tone, saying how it doesn’t look like much but it was what they had at the time, and he’s already drawing up blueprints for modifications, and then he’s cutting himself off with a shiver when she rolls the shining knuckles in her grip.

She looks up at him and he’s looking at her and now he’s much closer than he was before and then he’s kissing her. She kisses him back.

Surprisingly, it’s him who breaks it first, resting his forehead against hers. His voice when he speaks is rougher, lower, and that definitely does something for her.

“You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

She knows exactly what question he’s talking about.

He humors her anyway. “In medical, on the ship back from Geonosis. I remember asking you something very important, and you never gave me an answer. I know I’m not making it up.”

She lets out a shaky breath. “Oh. You mean the one you asked in front of your master when you were high on painkillers? I think I can remember that.”

He pulls away, making a face at her. “First of all, I was not that high. I was basically sober. Second, Obi Wan’s seen me way worse saying way dumber things, there’s no way he took it seriously.”

She arches a brow at him and he realizes his mistake, backpedaling. “Not that anything about this is dumb, stars no, ignore me. See, I say dumb things!”

She tries to look disapproving at him, but his panicked expression makes her crack into laughter, and now he’s just sulking. “I promise you, Padmé, I meant everything I said, and I won’t take it back.”

Her response surprises both of them. “Then ask me again.”

_What am I doing?_

To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate for a moment, taking up both of her hands in both his metal and flesh ones, looking deep into her eyes. She feels like she’s drowning. “Padmé, I love you more than the stars themselves. Will you marry me?”

She’s going too fast, is what she’s doing, but for Padmé at this moment, it feels like she’ll never need brakes again.

_“Yes,”_ she breathes, filled with exhilaration from the speed high, and leans in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> *Lowkey dumps OT3 vibes all over the thing* what?
> 
> Hope you liked!
> 
> Comments are welcome, either here, or you can come yell at me about Star Wars on my Star Wars tumblr [@twilightofthe](https://twilightofthe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
